One Daydream Away
by Awkwardauthor
Summary: "He strolls through the halls with his head held high, a coy smirk playing on his lips, but his eyes tell me otherwise." In which Phil is a dark enigma that Dan will never give up on. High school AU, Punk! Phil and Pastel! Dan.


**Because I'm trying my hand at writing short stories in a professional level but still have that fanfiction-y feel.**

 **Hi guys! I've been wanting to write a Punk Phil and Pastel Dan phanfic for a while and some cool bantering about the punk scene with someone inspired me to venture a bit out of my normal range of writing. This is very different from what I usually write. I know I have a bunch of other fics I should be working on, but this plot bunny wouldn't shut up and I couldn't help but write it. Happy reading!**

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He spells trouble with his leather jackets, ripped jeans, and raggedy Converse. Every morning, at the parking lot, he sits on the hood of his car like a king on his throne, his harem of chicks hanging on to every word that comes out of his mouth. His only two friends would join him sometime later, chasing away his followers as they join him on the car. One of them would pass him a cigarette, and wisps of smoke would disperse in the air as they waste away the remaining minutes before the bell for first period rings.

Sometimes he goes to class. Sometimes he sneaks out of campus with his friends and won't be seen for the rest of the day. Sometimes he'll approach me and ask me to come along, to which I'll usually decline with a curt no. But there were a couple of times that I threw my cautious life out the window, the times when I'd shed my pale-shaded jumpers for band t-shirts and shove my flower crown deep into my backpack. For a few hours, I'm a runaway who didn't play by the rules. I steal an identity of a person I can never be, yet somehow still feel entitled to.

It's the only way I can be with him.

 _September 2008: My legs are tired. They're still behind me. Suddenly, a door bursts open. Phil and Martyn see me and urge me to come inside. So I do. And once that door is slammed shut and the lock clicks, I fall to the floor in exhaustion. They join me and engulf me with their arms. They tell me it'll be okay. Martyn says he'll get back at then tomorrow. Phil says he'll let me borrow his Iron Man toy for the rest of the week. I want to believe they're right. And maybe, as long as they'll always live in that little house one walk across the street away from mine, they are._

My alarm clock goes off. A groan escapes my mouth as I fumble for the alarm's off switch. I lie back down and remain in the position for a few more minutes before I roll out of bed. As I'm standing up, the soles of my feet step on something on the floor.

I turn on my bedside lamp. The blue origami paper folded in a paper plane causes the corners of my mouth to curve upward. I bend down to grab the plane, unfolding the paper to reveal four words scrawled in black ink.

 ** _Let's go out today._**

I don't need a signature to know who wrote this.

I drop the paper on my duvet and rush to get myself ready. I take a quick shower and change into a gray MCR V-neck t-shirt, a red and black flannel, the only pair of ripped jeans I own, and a pair of neon green sneakers. My parents have already left for work. Adrian is in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal, and when he sees me running down the stairs with my backpack slung over one shoulder and rummaging through the cupboards for a granola bar, he doesn't question my state of hastiness. He knows what I'll be up to.

 _November 2010: Martyn is often gone. He doesn't play with me and Phil anymore. He's in high school now, so of course he won't want to be seen with little kids. But when I see him, he's different. He reminds me of Alex, Finn, and all the other boys that pick on me. That scares me. I don't want another person to tell me I'm worthless. Thankfully, I have Phil. He's still here for me._

His cerulean eyes light up when I leave the house, my mouth stuffed with oats and the wrapper balled up in my left hand. His raven hair is back to having its blue streaks through his fringe. He must've dyed it again over the weekend.

"Hi."

"Hey. You look great."

Heat rushes to my cheeks. "You look better." He is, with his own misfit wardrobe similar to mine, minus the flannel and white Vans instead of my bright-colored shoes.

"Okay, no more compliments. Let's get going, shall we?"

 _April 2012: The news is playing on the TV. The female reporter is talking about an arrest. My chest splits open when I recognize the face as Martyn's. My parents are making disappointed comments. I'm firing a text to Phil to ask him if he knows about what happened to Martyn. I'm screaming at myself. I should've said something. I knew something was wrong, but I chose to kept my mouth shut. It's my fault I didn't help Martyn when I had the chance._

We get into his car, him onto the driver's seat and me onto the shotgun seat. I throw my backpack to the backseats. There's no use of it since we won't be going to school.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"You'll see."

"Can't even give me a tiny hint?"

"Nope." His mouth inclines into a playful smile. "You'll find out when we get there."

"If there are any moths involved, I'll pass."

He snorts. "Have faith in me, Dan. I haven't failed you yet, right?"

I pout, crossing my arms over my chest. "Surprises are surprises for a reason. You can't blame me for having my doubts."

"I know." He reaches for my hand, lacing my fingers with his. "But I don't want to spend the day with anyone else but you."

"Selfish prick."

He smirks. "I'm your selfish prick though."

"Whatever. Just drive."

 _June 2012: Phil hasn't been himself since Martyn's arrest. He's always locked up in his room and he's quiet whenever we hang out. Tyler and Connor are as worried as I am. But I tell them to leave it to me. Phil's going through a rough time. He needs space. I can give him that. I'll do anything for him, because I want him back. I want my best friend back._

He lets go of my hand, inserting the key into the ignition. The engine hums, and in a couple of minutes, we're cruising down the streets. He bypasses our school, driving the car through unfamiliar neighborhoods, where we're surrounded by run-down buildings, a lack of trees, and people that remind me of the starving kids I watch in charity commercials. I used to be afraid to walk through these avenues, fearing the possibility of being mobbed or beaten to a pulp.

Not anymore.

These people rob or punch due to their own fears. They're outsiders just like me. They do what they do to protect themselves, because it's people that I look up that belittle them, the same people that once hurled insults at me in every direction. They live in their own dark realm, and the moment they step into the light, they become ticking bombs awaiting for those that live in the light to drive them back into the darkness.

I could've been one of them. But I proved myself. I dug my way out of my beliefs that I could never amount to someone worth being admired. And it worked. The scrawny little boy who thought he belonged in the shadows worked his way into being a role model for his peers.

 _September 2013: I've failed. I've failed to save Martyn, and now I've failed to save Phil. I tried my best. I stayed away from him. I made a friend in Louise, and she's now part of my, Tyler, and Connor's circle. But Louise can never remove the gaping void that Phil left behind. I made the wrong choice. I shouldn't have ignored him. He's no longer the sweet boy with his action toys and his constant optimism. He's weekend parties, secret six-packs, and inked shoulders. He's not Phil anymore. I've lost him and I can't get him back._

He finally stops the car in the parking lot of a deserted park. The swing set, seesaws, slides, and monkey bars have rusted from its years of disuse. I've never seen this place before. Then again, there were a lot of things I haven't seen prior to year 10. Ever since I've started spending more time with him and his friends, they've showed me places that completely altered my fabricated life.

"We're here," he announces.

"Why here?"

"Today's my last day. Had to leave my mark somewhere."

"Mark?"

"Come out and I'll show you."

 _December 2013: It's the first Christmas without Phil as my friend. Mrs. Lester delightedly greets me when she sees me at their front porch. I ask her if Phil is there, and the dejection on her face is my answer. I tell her to give my gift to Phil and to wish him a Merry Christmas. I remember seeing a Red Hot Chili Peppers poster on his wall the last time I was in his room, so I bought him a mug embedded with the band's faces. I don't know if he still has his fascination for collecting nerdy memorabilia, but if he does, he'll definitely love this. She gives me a hug before I leave. "Don't give up on Phil. He's in there somewhere," she sobs. And I know she's right. Somewhere beneath his hardened soul, the boy who stayed by my side when my tormentors grew one by one is imprisoned, waiting for someone to free him._

Curiosity buzzing in my head, I exit the car. He delays coming out for several seconds, reaching for the duffel bag he kept on the floor of his backseat. For a brief second, I contemplate if the bag contains a lethal weapon. I instantly shake the inference away. He's not as dangerous as everyone thinks he is. Sure, his punches are powerful enough to knock someone unconscious, though he's not capable of murder.

He watches cat videos and DIY's. He's like me, and I'm a bit smug to be the only person who knows that fact.

We stroll through the parking lot and into the park. There are wide spaces between the chain-links of the fencing that surrounds the area, so we easily crawl through the wires to get inside. He leads me further in, until we're face-to-face to a wall. Peach-colored paint peel off the barricade. Mold seeps through the bricks. Thankfully, the stench isn't too pungent that I have to cover my nose.

"So your surprise is a wall," I bluntly say.

"Not just a wall. This will be our wall."

"Our wall?"

He kneels down and opens the bag. I'm stunned when I see the seemingly endless cans of spray paint and a few paintbrushes buried between the cans.

He beams, exposing his pearly teeth. "How do you feel about breaking a law?"

 _March 2014: Connor comes through my bedroom window in the middle of the night crying. I ask him what's wrong. He tells me I'll hate him, but he has to tell me anyway. I tell him I can never hate him because he's one of my best friends. So when he tells me that he's gay and he just had his first kiss with Troye, I don't throw him out the window like he thought I'd do. Instead I hold his hand and say "I know, and I'm here for you." Because I've known all this time. Because his secret is my secret too._

"How do you feel about seeing me with an orange shirt with 'detainee' labeled on the back?" I retort. Unlike him, I'm still one year away from graduating high school. I can't afford to spoil my neat record with a criminal report.

"Dan, you're not gonna get arrested. You didn't caught the last two times, right? I'd never let your pretty face rot behind bars."

"You've seen the bars, and your face is still pretty."

He chuckles, though his expression switches to gloom. "I'd rather see those bars for the rest of my life than to let you spend one night in that hellhole."

I kneel down next to him, curling my arms around his neck and burying my head at the crook of his neck. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned it."

"No… it's not your fault. I just want to make you happy. You always tell me how you want a bigger canvas for your art. This is the biggest canvas I can think of, until Peej, Chris, and I can think of a way to steal a truck."

A pang of guilt and joy hits me. Our mutual hobby for drawing is how we bond. When he's not causing a ruckus on the opposite side of town or hooking up with strangers, he found his talent through creativity. While I do fanart of my favorite parts of fan culture, he does intricate designs that eventually gets etched onto his skin. I want to be an illustrator for picture books or a manga artist; he wants to be a tattoo artist. Regardless of our polar artistic goals, at the end of the day, art runs in our blood. We live and breath through the motions of a pen, pencil, or paintbrush in our hands.

"You're gonna be successful," he continues. "Someday, your books will be on shelves and otakus will fall for your stories like I've fallen for you. Me? The best I can do is have a tattoo shop and hope I'll go viral, which is unlikely because there's hundreds of other great tattoo artists in the world that don't get noticed."

"Shush. Don't think that way. You're on the path of righteousness. You're gonna make it in this fucked-up universe." I tilt my head and press my lips on his chin. I'm speaking to vulnerability. As much as I love the sentimental side of him, this isn't the sentimentalism that he deserves.

 _October 2014: Mrs. Lester went overboard with the snacks. Being partnered with Phil for an article in the school newspaper is a blessing and a curse. I'm finally spending time alone with him since he stopped hanging out with me, but it's hard to deal with his arrogant attitude up close and personal. I have to remind myself that I'm doing this for my fellow students. Everyone I know is envious that I get to work with Phil. For me, it's just another Friday night at the Lesters._

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," he murmurs. "We can forget I brought it up. I can take you back to school and you can still make it to your next period."

I shake my head. Fuck the rules.

"What do you want us to put?" I ask.

A smile cracks on his face. "Anything you want, baby."

 _February 2015: He strolls through the halls with his head held high, a coy smirk playing on his lips, but his eyes tell me otherwise. Behind that persona, Phil isn't terrible to be around. He's pleasant to talk to when he isn't a cocky asshole. I agreed to go to a rave with him, PJ, and Chris last night. It was way over-the-top as expected, but it wasn't as horrible as Louise warned me it would be. Phil's actually pretty funny when he's drunk. And ten times more hotter. And when he gave me a sloppy kiss as I dragged him back home, I felt butterflies in my stomach for the first time. It's not just a cliché. I felt the fluttering and I felt lightweight. It was the best feeling in the world, and it's so foolish of me to think that when I'm completely sober._

We gather the spray-paint cans and line them on the floor. We each pick up a can of black spray-paint and go right to work. We don't map out our creations. We relinquish control of our minds, hypnotized by our paintings.

Minutes pass. By noon, sweat soaks through our shirts and the wall is a swirl of colors. His half of the wall consists of bold colors that makes his nature landscape pop out. My half of the wall consists of lighter colors that makes the faces of the people important in my life look more than a family portrait. We're nearly finished, though there's one person I haven't finished painting yet.

"I'm beat," he says. "Wanna take a break?"

"In a bit."

"You look tired. You can finish in five minutes."

"I'm fine. Just let me finish and we can take that break."

He's about to pose another rebuttal, so I can shut him up with a glare.

"I'll give you ten minutes. Any more than that and I'm putting the cans back into the car."

"Yes sir," I reply, sarcasm dripping through my words.

 _September 2015: It's the second time I'm out with Phil. It's the first time I ditched school. One absent day won't hurt my teachers. I was surprised when Phil drove us to what I thought was an abandoned neighborhood. Turns out we're in the part of town where Martyn lives with his girlfriend. Apparently, Lia's parents died from a car accident a few months ago and she's the only one left to take care of her baby sister. With Martyn earning minimal wage, he can't afford to pay rent for an apartment where he, Lia, and Phoebe can go. This is where Phil goes whenever he's not at school. He's looking after Phoebe while Martyn is working and Lia is in her uni classes. Occasionally, PJ and Chris will take over if Phil misses too many days off from school. I can't believe I didn't know this. I thought he was out getting wasted with his friends when he's not at school. All he's really doing is giving up a small part of his time for the people who are using more of theirs for the sake of a child._

He watches as I finish the rest of my work. By the time I'm done, he has tears brimming in his eyes.

"I thought I was the one who was supposed to surprise you," he chokes.

I grin, dropping the can of brown spray-paint. I place my palms on his cheeks. "You've always been surprising me. Can't I drop the bomb for once?"

"Bitch," he says teasingly.

"Thank you," I joke.

 _April 2016: It's April Fools, but there's no cruel jokes exchanged between us. Phil's arms are wrapped around my waist, our bodies shaped into a large cocoon. He fiddles with the hem of my pale blue jumper, a gift from him last Christmas. He lets out a shaky breath. I gaze into his eyes and wipe away the tear sliding down his cheek. "Why did I ever leave you?" he asks. I sought the answer to this question for months. Now that we found our way back to each other, this time for good, I have the answer. The solution wasn't there until I experienced what it was like to live my teenage life without him. "Because we wouldn't have known what love was till we let it go," I tell him._

"Think that'll still be us in a decade?"

I peek over his shoulder. The 2D portraits of us are a replication of that April night about a month ago: lying on his bed at 3 AM, thinking about what will happen to us once he graduated in June, and saying those magical three words to each other for the first time.

"I hope so. Maybe Phil Jr. will be born by then too."

He laughs, touching his forehead to mine. "Dan Jr. has a better ring to it."

"Or Phan Jr."

"Did you really consider naming our child Phan?"

"It's a possibility!"

He shakes his head in amusement. "We should at least have bank accounts first before we look into that possibility."

"Well you aren't wrong."

We grin.

Our lips meet.

He says "I love you." I say it right back.

Because that's what a bad and a good can do. We're dreams that aren't supposed to intertwine, but we make it happen.

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 **Thoughts? I thought about this being a potential multi-chaptered fic, but I'll leave this as as it is for now.**


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